


then i see you (it's ok, it's ok, i'm ok, i'm alright again)

by safeandsound13



Series: 'cause your whole heart's a village everyone you love has built it [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Illness, Pregnancy, also when you get to end: are you proud of me for avoiding the word together?, even though nobody asked, i got into my own feelings, im recovering slowly i think, it also gets a little emo so, it gets a little heavy ngl, mental health, no seriously i was too lazy to rewrite, peace out, ps ignore the time inconsistency in regard to the last fic in this collection, raven is a daydrinker okay and i messed up the am/pms leave me alone, so proud of myself, the word holds zero power over me anymre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-14 15:10:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18478792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/safeandsound13/pseuds/safeandsound13
Summary: Clarke already broke down telling Raven, but looking at him right now makes her want to do it all over again. It’s not — deep down, she knows this is all he’d ever want. He loves her. He loves babies and children and anything he gets to take care of, including their pet turtle that originally was a gag-gift from his partner Miller last Christmas but that he now dresses up every holiday to sent pictures of to his sister and their friends. Logically speaking, he should want a babywithher. One plus one equals two. It's basic math.





	then i see you (it's ok, it's ok, i'm ok, i'm alright again)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fathomless](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fathomless/gifts).



> this whole fic is entirely created to:
> 
> a) emotionally blackmail miss fathomless m'am into finishing another chapter of her blarke stebsibling excellence thicker than water . she prompted me and i want my borderline incest okay!
> 
> b) get miss kisha off my back about these damn baby fics! that bitch is seriously obsessed with me or sumn... kidding i love you to death and i'll write you as many baby fics as you wish

“You will not believe the places Miller and I accidentally discovered XTC in the lockerroom today.” Clarke hears his voice in the distance, muffled by the wall between them, their front door closing softly with a click. There’s some more unidentified commotion, probably him taking off his jacket and shoes, storing them where they belong before he steps into the living room.  He grins at her as soon as he lays his eyes on her, then a slight crease appears in between his brows. “Hi. Why are you not ready?”

She has to admit it’s a little dramatic, the way she’s perched on top of the couch in her jeans and an old light grey v-neck sweater, bare feet, hair a mess on top of her head, mascara smudged under her eyes. The TV is muted, but an episode of Queer Eye is playing, which maybe makes her sitting there staring at nothing even more morbid. Normally he’s the melodramatic one, and she’s the one rolling her eyes and telling him to calm down and take a deep breath.

Right now, it’s a stark contrast between the two of them, with him already in his best pair of jeans and a dark button down. It’s their anniversary on Monday, and since Clarke has exam week and Bellamy couldn’t get anyone to swap his shift with, the two of them had planned on celebrating it tonight at some semi-fancy restaurant they could barely afford.

Instead of getting changed into her favorite blue dress — or his really — slapping on something else besides just concealer, and maybe brushing her hair for the first time in a month, Clarke spent the past hour taking a life-changing test and mentally breaking down. Well, she took the first one this morning risking her life in a public gas patrol probably disease-ridden restroom, and another during lunch at school between pediatric anatomy classes which wasn’t at all ironically fucked up, so: a third life-changing test in the comfort of her own home _and_ mentally breaking down.

Three positive tests, the likelihood of the results being faulty was beyond realism now. At first she was in a daze, then she felt like drinking, and next thing she knew she was dialing Raven’s number, who helped her fast forward through the first four stages of grief. Only as soon as she hung up she went straight back to main course depression with a little side of denial.

It hit her this morning when her flo-app sent her a notification her period was approaching and she couldn’t for her life remember the last time she even had one. She had some light bleeding two months ago, and figured it was just god’s way of letting her know she still cared and the whole barely eating a full meal a day because school, responsibilities, and a paralyzing amount of stress. Her period had been irregular before, so really, it was not a big deal.  

When Clarke opened her app to check, it showed her she was 35 days late. Which meant she skipped last month’s period, and then was in the middle of skipping this months, and she wasn’t a graduated medical professional yet, but pennies started dropping everywhere. She’s felt queasy in the morning for about a week straight, but wrote the stomach-churning off as exam stress, or maybe just plain old existential dread. Yesterday, she’d thrown up her regular Bellamy-has-an-early-start-and-isn’t-there-to-police-my-breakfast breakfast — a banana and an ice coffee — but the evening before they let his sister have a crack at cooking them dinner so some good old fashioned food poisoning hadn’t been ruled out. She’s been tired, and moody, and bloated, so bloated, but again — she feels like she could pick any regular senior year college student from a line-up of hundred and they would be suffering from the same symptoms.

“Uhm,” Clarke starts, her voice scratchy as she leans forward to put her mug of now cold tea on the coffee table. She swallows, to try and get the lump that’s formed in her throat to go away. “I think we need to talk.”

The frown on his forehead deepens as he stands there for a second, then he nods, trudging over to her. Bellamy sits down on the couch beside her, both on one end of their old two-seater, backs pressed against the armpanels. She pulls her feet back up, crossing her legs tailor-fashioned, wrapping her fingers around her ankles to keep from wringing them together nervously.

“Clarke, is everything okay?” He asks, quiet, when she hasn’t said anything in a while, just let their heavy breaths pass between them as she searched his face. For a moment, she just wants to remember them like this, remember him like this.

Clarke already broke down telling Raven, but looking at him right now makes her want to do it all over again. It’s not — deep down, she knows this is all he’d ever want. He loves her. He loves babies and children and anything he gets to take care of, including their pet turtle that originally was a gag-gift from his co-worker Miller last Christmas but that he now dresses up every holiday to sent pictures of to his sister and their friends. Logically speaking, he should want a baby _with_ her. One plus one equals two. It's basic math.

They’d discussed it before like in that general _‘wow, that baby really won’t stop crying huh we’re totally gonna avoid public places with our kids until we can buy their silence with dessert, pass me the ketchup_ ’ way but they hadn’t made any decisions on when. Clarke feels like maybe that was her fault. Up until she met Bellamy she didn’t really think she wanted kids — the world is a horrible place, she doesn’t have the greatest maternal role-model in the world, they sound like a whole bunch of work, and for what?

(One random night, two weeks into their year-long friendship turned relationship, he tells her he wants her to meet his sister. This in spite of the fact most of his friends had barely even seen her in person. Octavia Blake was someone they all knew existed, but only because his entire photo library consisted of pictures of her doing random shit. Clarke hadn’t asked about her before, because she figured he’d tell her once he was ready.

On the way there in the car, rain ticking against the windows loudly and his gaze fixed straight ahead, he told her she has bipolar disorder, which she inherited from their mom. He explained she’d been in and out of treatment since she was a teenager, even hospitalized here and there, and they’d gone through more than one rough patch. He didn’t always know how to be around her, how to see her as anything but her illness, and in turn she found an easy target in him, found it easy to blame him for everything wrong in her life. He told her he doesn’t tell most people about Octavia, not because he is ashamed, or because he felt he had to shelter others from his ‘crazy’ sister, but because he wants to protect _her_ from other people and their lousy opinions. She might not always be a simple person to be around, but she was _his_ difficult little sister. His mother’s story didn’t end well — he found her in the bathroom one morning when he just turned eighteen and still has nightmares about it — and he doesn’t want the same for her. He’s petrified of something like that happening to her.

It wasn’t hard to see the worst in himself — he blamed himself for all the years he refused to understand her, how bad it hurt to watch someone you love so much hurt themself, sometimes even find relief in hurting him as well — and even easier to see the worst in others — the things they’d think, they’d say — but he trusted Clarke, almost more than he trusted himself. He told her she met Lincoln, a semi-famous architect and recovering addict, years ago — at a gas station on one of her runaway trips after a bad fight with Bellamy; he brought her home to her brother, and they kept finding their way back to each other after that — and he’s been a great stabilizing factor for her, along with the right meds and a therapist she actually likes, and that as of yesterday, he was an uncle.

The next thing Clarke knows, she’s watching him holding his niece, smiling over to his beautiful sister, so soft and so fond and so proud her heart almost bursts. She remembers the moment vividly, the moment she realized that yeah, she wanted _his_ babies.)

Right now, her biggest reservations were that she was young, and she had so much shit she wanted to do, or see, or to figure out. She was still in school for fuck’s sake, what was she going to do with a baby? It wasn’t — she knows this is a thing she does. She plans out her life, every little detail, and then does everything in her power to make it happen, no matter how hard. It always worked, up until the point she tried to bear so much of it on her own; medical school, the job to help pay for medical school, her mom’s addiction, her dad’s long road of illness before eventually she held him while he died, her girlfriend who she thought was the love of her life leaving her for a job on the other side of the country. She worked herself to death, and desperately held every little thing she felt or thought inside, because she felt this huge responsibility to do everything the perfect way, the way people expected, there was no room for failure.

Until finally, she just snapped. She couldn’t do anything but sleep, and when she slept, she’d wake to the most horrible nightmares. She felt helpless. She couldn’t speak to anyone, couldn’t make herself go anywhere, not school or her job or her friends. She didn’t eat, she didn’t shower, she couldn’t even remember the simplest things, and sometimes even went days without having any form of contact with the outside world. Everything hurt — her body, her mind, her soul — _everything_. She felt emotionally drained, physically exhausted. It felt good to isolate herself, to punish herself for something she had no control over. When it got to the point she even considered giving up all together, and that was the moment she knew she needed to go see someone. She texted Raven to find her a therapist and the rest was history.

It took a year of recovery, something she still sometimes doesn’t forgive herself for. She was supposed to be stronger than that, she was supposed to just — be able to bear it, push through, make it out on the other side. Sometimes if she thought back on those dark days, she’d feel exactly how she’d felt back then. Her heart would start to race, her mouth would get dry, she’d start sweating for no reason. More than anything, she never wanted to feel like that again; weak, hopeless, broken. She never wanted to see anyone look at her the way Raven looked at her when she opened the door to let her in that day, or how all the color drained from her mom’s face when she told her what happened, or the way people talked about her behind her back when she tried to go back to school.

Most of all, she never wanted _Bellamy_ to look at her like that. A baby, a whole person she would need to take care of, how was she supposed to do that? How could she trust herself to do that? What guarantee did she have it wouldn’t happen again? That it wouldn’t be too much, too soon?

Clarke takes in a deep shaky breath, leaning forward to cover his hand resting on his knee with her own. Her palm is clammy and cold compared to the warmth radiating off his skin. “I — I’m going to say something, and you can’t freak out, okay?”

Bellamy narrows his eyes slightly, and his lips part slightly as he takes in a sharp breath. He obviously doesn’t agree with this arrangement, but she cuts him off before he can get a word out. “Promise me you won’t freak out.”

He searches her face for a long moment, and she can tell he still wants to protest, but then his face softens and he turns the hand underneath hers, so they’re palm to palm and he can intertwine their fingers. “Okay.”

“Before I say it, I just wanted to tell you I can do it,” Clarke starts off steady, but then her bottom lip starts to tremble, and her heart starts pounding erratically against her ribcage, and her eyes prick with tears, and she’s just proving the exact opposite of what she’s trying to tell him right now.  “I know I’m a mess, and that I’m fucked up, but I would never do anything — anything to endanger or hurt a baby. I k-know I can do it —”

His hand stiffens in hers, but only for a second. He cuts her off, leaning forward to cup her cheek with his hand and brush away the mascara-stained tears from her cheeks and her frizzy hair from her face. He looks so confused, so willing to make her stop babbling like an idiot and calm her down. “A baby? Clarke, what are you —”

“I’m pregnant,” she blurts out, squeezing her eyes shut. She doesn’t want to see his reaction, not when she’s acting like an absolute lunatic. A pathetic one at that. Clarke tugs on her bottom lip with her teeth, tasting salt, bracing herself for impact.

“What? How?” Bellamy says finally, sounding dumbfounded as his hand slides down to her neck limply. Her eyes spring open, trying to catch his gaze and gauge how he’s feeling, but it doesn’t really look like anyone’s home right now, a vacant, unreadable expression on his face.

“I don’t know,” Clarke answers, short. She’s thought about it, a lot, but right now she doesn’t really care about the logistics of it all. She just wants to be comforted. “I got my Nexplanon replaced a few months ago. Maybe we fucked up and had sex too soon.”

She vaguely remembers her doctor mentioning something about her period and not having intercourse before or after. Either one. Which, fuck. They definitely had sex. Before _and_ after.

“It’s literally the most safe form of birth control,” he retorts with a scoff, pulling his hand back to run it through his hair and messing up his curls, having the nerve to sound _annoyed_. “How did we fuck that up?”

Clarke pulls her hand from his grasp roughly, mentally blaming it on her hormones being out of control when she feels another tear slip down her cheek. At least she doesn’t feel overwhelming sadness and incompetence anymore, now she’s just angry. She feels sick, her stomach churning as she spits, “I took three tests, Bellamy, I’m sorry if you don’t like the results but —”

“No, it’s not that,” he interferes hastily, his shoulders deflating as he reaches for her hand with both of his again, lifting it up to his mouth to press a featherlight kiss to the back of it. “It’s absolutely not that.” The corners of his lips turn up slightly, just for a second before it fades again. He tilts his head slightly, pushing out a soft sigh, “I’m just — I’m just freaking out a little.”

She swallows tightly, croaking out, “So am I.”

His thumb brushes over her cheek again, delicately, then he leans forward, pressing his lips against hers, brief. His forehead rests against hers for a moment, then he pulls back so he can look at her better.

“You don’t need to convince me of anything, Clarke. I always knew you’d be a great mom. I just wasn’t sure this was something you wanted,” he confesses, so confident he almost sounds offended she didn’t know, and just like that, relief overcomes her. _I always knew_. She feels like she can take a normal breath for the first time since this morning. His voice gets quieter, softer, his brown eyes so vulnerable and hopeful she almost starts crying again, “It is something you want, right?”

She does _not_ want to cry again, so instead of forcing herself to speak, she bites down on her bottom lip again, swallowing roughly before nodding, once, resolute. Of course. Of course she fucking wants this. She just didn’t allow herself to want it, any of it.

(For a long time, she thought every time she was happy something bad had to happen. That every time she wanted something, anything, someone ended up getting hurt. She thought everyone she loved died, or left. Bellamy gave her back some of her faith, made her realize that even if not everything is in her control, even if not everything is in his control and he’d never willingly leave her, they’ll always have today, and with today, they can do whatever the hell the want.)

He palms her face with both hands, excitement buzzing underneath his skin, pressing his mouth against hers in a long kiss, until they’re both breathless and maybe even a little lightheaded. He pecks her mouth a few more times, like he can’t quite get himself to stop, but then suddenly he’s getting up from the couch, leaving her sitting there in confusion. “Don’t move.”

Before she can register it, he’s disappeared back into the hallway. When it’s been fifteen seconds and he still hasn’t returned, she calls out his name questioningly, adding a loud, badgering, "Are you planning your escape route?" At least she didn’t hear the front door slam shut, that would’ve been a lousy way of breaking up with her. 

He comes back out then, looking exactly the same as he sits back down beside her, this time close enough for her knees to be touching his thigh. Clarke frowns at him, and he grins, still making her stomach swoop after all these years, using his thumb to smooth out her brow. Then he uncurls his other fist, revealing a ring in the palm of his hand.

Her heart stops for a moment, and then kickstarts into a rapid flutter of beats. Clarke just blinks at it, scared that if she looks away, it’ll vanish.

“It was your mom’s,” he explains, sounding unsure all of a sudden, which is strange to her ears, considering this is Bellamy. He’s never not confident, so confident, he’s arrogant even. “I asked her for it, because your dad picked it out and I know how much — how much he meant to you.”

Warmth blooms from her chest to the tips of her fingers, a feeling she can’t describe as anything else but pure love. She loves him so much; she loves his stupid jokes to make her feel better, how much he cares about everyone and everything even though he pretends not to, the way he forces her to watch the history channel in her free time or for her to come along to the new Nicholas Sparks movie because going on his own would be weird; the way he makes insane and reckless decisions because they _feel_ right. Mostly, she loves who is he going to be. An amazing father — she’s never been more certain of anything in her life. Finally, she manages to tear her eyes away from his hand, just staring up at him with wide eyes.

He lets out a small breath, his cheeks slightly pink and the corners of his mouth turned up as his eyes rake her face. “I just — I want you to know you don’t have to do this on your own, Clarke. You have me.” Bellamy picks the ring up, holding it up in front of her in between his thumb and forefinger like a promise, a promise she wants to take more than anything in the world, a promise she wants to try her hardest to keep. “You’ll always have me.”

She knew that, but it feels good to hear it, to have it reassured one more time. She’s confident that even if it gets a little too much at times, he’ll be right there next to her, guiding her through it, keeping her centered. She doesn’t believe in anyone as much as she believes in him. They’ll be alright. Clarke takes the ring from him, slipping it on. It’s a little snug, since her mom has boney fingers and she’s retaining some serious water, but it’s perfect all the same.

He presses his mouth to her cheek, to her temple, her nose, the corner of her mouth, everywhere he can reach. She’s laughing and crying at the same time, but he doesn’t mind, just keeps kissing her and kissing her until she isn’t sure whose tears she’s tasting.

She pulls away, wiping the wetness from his cheeks, scrubbing at the make-up stains on his skin, before doing the same to her own. “I’m sorry for crying at everything, it’s the hormones.”

Bellamy puts his arm around her, pulling her into his chest. They have a moment to let it all settle in. A hopeful smile creeps into his lips, his hand gently ghosting over her belly. “We really are going to have a baby?” His tone is soft, incredulous, her breath shaky as she nods against him, her cheek pressed against his shoulder, her own hand coming up to cover his. It’s really happening.

A grin splits across his face, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of her hair. It’s quiet for a while, and then he asks, dry, “Were you honestly worried I would be mad — or disappointed?”

“Not really,” she admits, shifting her head to look at him, her fears and doubts were mostly directed at herself. “I just got into my own head.” Clarke scoots up a little, so he can catch the teasing smirk on her face in all it’s glory. “Besides, Raven assured me you told her you wanted to have my babies the first time you saw each other.”

“I was drunk,” he defends himself, but it’s half-hearted. Then something seems to click, realisation settling over his face. “Wait. Why would — did you tell Raven before me?”

“So about earlier,” Clarke replies pointedly, trying to hide a smile. He’s so adorable when he gets jealous. “You mentioned something about finding drugs in a strange place? I’m so intrigued.”

He lets out a humoured huff, pinching her side softly. “Don’t change the subject.”

She yelps, slapping his hand away as she continues the whole innocent spiel. “Ah, please, don’t leave a girl hanging.” She squints at him, pursing her lips slightly as if in thought. “Was it a body cavity?”

“You’re a brat, Griffin,” he concludes, flattening his hand over her stomach completely now, leaning down a little so he can look at her stomach better. “You hear that? Your mom is a brat.”

She feels sickenly happy almost, so happy that if she was any other person, she’d be disgusted with herself. Mock-seriously, she pats him on the chest smugly, knowing just how to distract him enough to come up with witty answer. “That’s Griffin-Blake for you, sir.”

“Ha,” he scoffs, a surprised sound in the back of his throat, glaring at her all betrayed, but the grin he can hardly keep contained ruins the whole angry aesthetic completely. “I guess you win this round.”

They skip dinner that night in favor of saving their hard-earned money for future doctor appointments and diapers, instead settling in on their couch with a tub of pistachio ice cream and even unmuting the TV now she’s no longer wallowing in self-pity. Just before they go to sleep, she remembers to text her friend a picture of the outcome of her night.

**RAVEN [11:07 PM]**  

> _congrats losers . and all thanks to me.  i’ll drink to that!_

 

**Author's Note:**

> [hmu](http://www.safeands0und13.tumblr.com) or [here](http://www.twitter.com/captaindaddykru) if you want to yell, prompt me, or sip on mimosas and ignore all and any s6 news together, clink clink bitch we going full airplan emoji denial


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